LARRY ALLEN: At 50, it's not too late to try out a dream

HUNTSVILLE, Alabama _ As a young teen, my parents flatly rejected my repeated pleas for a mini scooter or moped.

I heard their reasoned lecture on the inherent dangers of motorcycling so many times that I could lip synch the words as my mother repeated them for the 100th time. By the time I was 15, I'd earned a learner's permit for a car and decided it was better to save for a car than pursue something my parents were dead set against.

And so it was ironic that one Sunday afternoon about six years ago, I was passing by the Harley motorcycle dealership when I spotted a huge circus tent and the glimmer of dozens of shiny new motorcycles dotting the landscape. Almost reflexively, I exited and doubled back thinking that I would take a few minutes to admire the iron horses up close. My wife sighed somewhat disapprovingly. I assured her I wouldn't take long. She could stay in the car and keep reading her book.

The tent and store grounds were covered with an assortment of bikes of every size and color imaginable. Chrome accessories shone in the spring sun, beckoning me closer. I had no idea what I was looking for or why I was even there. You see, I was not a rider. I'd never owned a motorcycle and was by now more than 50 years old. In general my life had been pretty predictable. I had never acted on that long-ago fantasy.

I browsed the vast display very briefly and once again pushed the dream aside. I climbed back into the car and drove home semisatisfied that I was too old to start this now. But it was fun to look and, amazingly, my wife had voiced only mild consternation.

The next morning at a work, I casually mentioned the previous day to my boss. His attention shifted quickly and directly to me when I spoke the words "Harley Davidson." His eyes flashed and his spirit lifted like I'd never seen - what model would I buy; when did I plan to get it? He was deaf to my explanation of simply browsing the boy toys on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Instead he insisted on accompanying me to the dealership that very same day, to help me make a proper selection. I reluctantly agreed. He was my boss, after all. As we drove to the dealership, his enthusiasm still far exceeded mine.

After a few more days of his insistent encouragement and some negotiations with my wife, I decided to make my old dream a reality. My boss happily guided me through selection and purchase, steering me to a motorcycle appropriate for a 50-year-old beginner.

Within two weeks, I found myself sitting astride a rumbling new Harley Sportster in front of my house. My boss had borrowed a trailer to help me tow it home and was now prepared to give me my first riding lesson. Unfortunately, I had to admit shamefacedly that I had no idea how to shift the gears or apply the brakes.

My first riding lesson was brief and embarrassing. The scene was reminiscent of my Dad running beside me just after removing the training wheels from my bicycle. My boss jogged along beside me until he was sure I understood the basics of throttle, gear shifting and braking. I'm certain that a few of my neighbors and my wife were chuckling. Then he left me to learn on my own.

If you ask me why I ride, I'd be hard pressed to explain it logically. But it has something to do with fulfilling a dream, the exhilaration of the wind in my face, and following the path of a winding road on a journey where schedule and destination are inconsequential. Spring and warm temperatures are calling me and many riders back to our bikes. Please watch for us and share the road. I'll do the same.